The World Is Not Enough (1999)

The World Is Not Enough (1999)

Getting serious for a moment on the eve of resuming our regularly scheduled Bond-fest, Bond actor Pierce Brosnan seems like a pretty standup guy (as far as I can tell). Tonight’s #BondBFFs is a bit overshadowed by the very recent loss of his daughter. Given these sad circumstances, today I’ll post only a poster shot for the film – and the theme song’s video by Garbage.

You can join @VFD_crow & I in our commentary at #BondBFFs on Twitter. Better yet, get your copy of The World Is Not Enough*, pause the film immediately after the MGM lion logo fades, and press play again at exactly 6 PM PST according to this site’s clock.

See you tonight!

* (My advice? Buy a legal version, and download/torrent it to put the file on the computer through VLC or some such, so streaming internet doesn’t make viewing stutter.)

“May I do the honors and have a nice slice of chocolate cream pie? It’s ‘honors’ because it’s the LAST PIECE.”

"JESUS <3s YOU" Bus

I first saw the “JESUS <3s YOU" bus as I biked past the laundromat this afternoon, returning from some voluteer work. And I thought, wish I had a camera, but I didn’t, so. Later in the day the very singular vehicle was parked on a side street we drove down – and I snapped this picture. The long-haired blonde man out front playing guitar through some amplifier shouted a compliment at my dog, in the back of my mom’s truck.

Today was a good day.

Tonight I tell my son. “I apologize.” “For what?” he asks. “For not getting you ice cream today.” “That’s okay,” he says. “There’s always tomorrow. Do you like my folder?” – holding up a semi-misshapen bit of crafting paper taped up like no tomorrow.

I like his folder so much. I like how tenderheartd my children are. I like today when we got a furniture delivery how helpful and kind the children were, and how when we left to get our groceries, Nels turned to his sister and sighed, “We have a good life.”

Oh and today I heard the best meth-story today involving a nap and a sandwich, a story from a recovering addict. I won’t type it out here but if you run into me, go ahead and ask.

salt skin

Today Ralph and Phee took the day off to hit Olympia, so Nels and I got up, had breakfast, donned as few clothes as possible, lathered up with sunscreen, and biked an eight-mile trip in the heatwave to pick up groceries. I biked slowly, for me, as I have something wrong with my knees – especially the left one. I remind myself: I don’t have to have knees that work or get my exercise or go to the doctor or take medicine or get an xray, all I have to do is be here right now and ride the bike with care and take the time I need. I’m not doing anything else right now, just This.

On our trip – against the wind on the way there, bolstered by it on the way back, thank Jeebus – my son clings to me and talks mostly about his exploits outdoors and I enjoy the sights of the sidestreets of Aberdeen. I pass a man nodding out in the alley in a not-insubstantial pile of fast food wrappers. At first I think he is a pile of refuse until he moves in a very human way, which spooks me. A moment later I am thinking of the addicts and alcoholics who perish from exposure during extreme weather. I pass a group of brown-skinned children playing with a hose; five boys taunting a girl who with seriousness chases them down to spray them. Nels and I smile and laugh and are both secretly delighted when we get a few drops from a dashed water balloon.

At home I rest with a root beer float and then a tomato sandwich. I bake a Brooklyn-style pizza for dinner and make Ralph a Vietnamese coffee. The extreme heats of oven temperature and olive oil and kalamata olives curiously satisfy me in my kitchenspace, which I’ve learned to keep cool, or at least cooler than the out-of-doors. Despite my precautions, I am a bit sun-fazed, tired from my ride (and my knee did get worse, despite the care I took in not straining it), a little scattered. At nine o’clock we take a walk out by the bay and I limp along and our dog, happy with not one not two but three long walks today, smiles alongside our conversation, padding in the deep grass in the dark, a gliding white shape accompanying our travels to nowhere in particular.

1983 Bondd. That’s two “d”s for a double-dose of distingué

Never Say Never Again (1983)

Don’t tell anyone this, but Sean Connery tickles my fancy. YES I know, I know. He’s a mediocre actor who is somehow still lionized even though he always plays the same macho-pants stuff (usually as a giant), he can’t hide his accent, I mean – not at all, and that sort of seems like something actors should be able to do – AND he defends lady-slapping not once but even after he’s had some time to re-think it!

 
I KNOW. I LOL every time I see that video. Horrible.

In Never Say Never Again we have the fourteenth Bond film, or sort of not a Bond film at all, depending on who you ask. I’m going to count it, though, as it was a major release that featured a titular Bond actor. The film was confusingly released the same year as Octopussy and features, I’m sure you’ll agree, the most “Skinemax” of all Bond theme songs:

 
You can join @VFD_crow & I in our commentary at #BondBFFs on awesometi.me. Better yet, get your copy of Never Say Never Again*, pause the film immediately after the Orion logo fades, and press play again at exactly 6 PM PST according to this site’s clock.

See you tonight!

* (My advice? Buy a legal version, and download/torrent it to put the file on the computer through VLC or some such, so streaming internet doesn’t make viewing stutter.)

Octopussy (1983)

“When I kill it is on the specific orders of my Government.” – Octopussy (1983)

Octopussy (1983)

Octopussy! The thirteenth Bond film. Confusingly released the same year as competing Bond film – Connery’s one-time return in Never Say Never Again (which I am old enough to actually remember being played at the drive-in!). The Cold War was cooling down a bit but we needed a reason to keep our nukes. Hence: a plot with a villainous ex-Afghan prince played by a French actor, and Roger Moore as Bond eschewing his traditional campinesss for a very, very serious bomb defusing scene – while he wears a clown suit, of course. Maud Adams, despite being murdered in previous Bond film The Man With The Golden Gun, returns as the titular title lady-spy. I think she gets slapped a hundred percent less in this film, though, so there’s that.

1983 brings some smooth-jazz sexy sax to the theme, “All Time High” by Rita Coolidge.

 
You can join @VFD_crow & I in our commentary at #BondBFFs on awesometi.me. Better yet, get your copy of Octopussy*, pause the film immediately after the MGM lion fades, and press play again at exactly 6 PM PST according to this site’s clock.

See you tonight!

* (My advice? Buy a legal version, and download/torrent it to put the file on the computer through VLC or some such, so streaming internet doesn’t make viewing stutter.)